An Almighty Sound
by Yvearia
Summary: "Skillful but prone to lapses in judgment. Disrespectful of command structure. Strong-willed with both positive and negative consequences. Sounds familiar, Clary had thought. Apparently Raleigh Beckett's eerie resemblance to Jace wasn't where the similarities stopped." Spoilers through COHF (set 10 years later, 2017). Rated T (may change later) Pairings: Clace, Sizzy, Malec, Rako
1. Part 1

_I do not own or profit in any part from 'The Mortal Instruments' or 'Pacific Rim'_

_See end for Notes_

* * *

The air was notably warmer when he stepped through the airplane door onto the enclosed metal gangway leading into the JFK Airport terminal. He had been relegated to a tiny seat on the small Alaska Airlines flight from Anchorage for over ten hours, not including his hour and a half layover in Seattle. There was no baggage to claim, as his only meaningful possessions had been stuffed into the rucksack he had carried on the flight. As he walked slowly behind the elderly couple shuffling ahead to no-doubt reunite with a son, daughter or other loved one long since seen, he contemplated his chances of slipping the noose before whoever they'd sent to retrieve him accomplished that task. New York was a big city, and JFK was a busy airport, and he was just one kid in a crowd of a few dozen other deplaning passengers.

As the metal walls and floor transitioned to concrete and tile, and the air took on a less stagnant quality than the air that had been re-circulating around the airplane cabin, Raleigh felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him. The florescent lighting at the arrivals gate gave the world a sickly-greenish quality, and he squinted sleep-weary eyes at the signs directing him to the main exits. Reseating his pack more firmly on his shoulder, he turned up the volume on his media player and let the music wash though his earphones, drowning out the noise of the night-deserted airport.

Meanwhile at baggage claim, a tall pale man, and equally tall and pale woman, stood waiting for the departing passengers of Alaska Airlines flight 9703. They were both dressed in black, but that, and their height and complexion were where the similarity ended. The man wore dark grey jeans and Chuck Taylor sneakers, with a black bomber-style jacket over a vintage black tee shirt that simply read 'Kosher'. He wore his hair in a shaggy cut that brushed his jaw, his bangs swept out of his eyes by thick-rimmed, retro black glasses. In one hand he twirled a guitar pick between his knuckles, while his other hand clasped that of the woman standing next to him, idly fidgeting with her thumb against his own. She, in contrast, wore tightly fitted dark denim pants and a mid-length black leather blazer over a deliberately dingy white tee, and a pair of silver pumps that made her just about an inch taller than her companion. She pushed a strand of her long black hair behind her ear before bringing her hand to fiddle with the red stone pendant hanging at her throat.

"The board says his flight's on time, and that was fifteen minutes ago."

"Calm down, Simon. He's not going to get lost, he's nineteen, not six," Isabelle soothed. "Do you remember what you were doing when you were nineteen?" She prodded him in the ribs with their combined fists, perhaps a little harder than she'd initially intended. Simon responded with a cough and a silent smirk. "Your _job_, Simon, not our _recreational_ activities."

"How are we going to recognize him?" Simon asked.

"I babysat for him when his parents visited the institute – a _long_ time ago. Actually, it wasn't too long before I met you."

"The first time?"

"Oh! Simon," she sighed softly.

"I'm sorry Iz, I just –"

"Si," she cut him off and tugged on his arm as she shot forward, away from the baggage carousels and toward the exit doors where taxis lined the sidewalk waiting to pick up a fare.

"Is that…? Oh my God." Simon's long legs caught him up to his girlfriend quickly enough. She was pulling him after her as she pursued a young man in faded blue jeans and a nondescript yellowish-grey sweater. He wore sturdy looking boots and kept hauling a backpack onto his shoulder as it was jostled around by the crowd he was navigating. His head was down and he had ear buds hooked to a media player shoved into his jeans pocket. Izzy squeezed Simon's hand quickly before letting it go and reaching for the kid's arm.

He turned on her with unnatural speed for someone who had only barely been able to stretch his limbs.

"Hey," she greeted him with her million-watt smile. His eyes flicked from Izzy to Simon and back again before a look of resigned recognition settled over his face. "I'm Isabelle Lightwood. That's Simon –" Simon raised his hand in a silent hello before shoving it back into his jeans pocket "– And we have a car waiting." She looped her arm through his as he pulled his ear buds free. "And it's warm, and we can stop by Taki's on the way home, they have the best sweet potato fries –"

"What's the time, here?" he interrupted her. He made the word 'here' sound like 'her'. Simon knew from what Alec had told them that the kid had been shifted around a lot, first while his parents had traveled between Idris and the London and Berlin Institutes, and then, more, after the Dark War, when orphan shadowhunters had become like the orphans of post WWII England – being shuffled from home to home until they eventually grew up and forged knew lives in a new world.

"Almost three in the morning," Isabelle sniffed. She didn't like being interrupted. It seemed self-centered, but Simon knew she had been trying to ease the transition into New York for Raleigh Beckett. She'd hoped to embrace him in some kind of warm welcome, even if it was at three a.m. in the middle of JFK Airport. Like they said: the road to Hell and all…

"I'd really just like to get where we're going. Put my things down. Take a shower. That's all."

"Sure," Simon answered in place of Isabel. "Car's this way."

* * *

Clary Herondale pulled her knees up to her chin in one of the plush new chairs in the Institute's common, or great, room. She held a file in her right hand and a photograph in her left, and she glanced back and forth between them uneasily. The face in the picture stared back at her from a few years ago. You couldn't tell for the black and white printing, but other than his eye color (blue, as stated in his personnel file), The image could have been of her husband ten or twelve years ago. Even the distant, cold way he held his shoulders and angled his head was all Jace.

"Did Master Herondale have a progeny he neglected to mention to everyone?"

She jumped at the melodious voice coming from over her shoulder.

"Now, even I shouldn't be able to startle a shadowhunter that easily, biscuit."

"He'd have to have been eleven years old, Magnus. Were you having sex at eleven?"

"It was an awfully long time ago – now, wait just a minute. I'm not telling you how long ago that was. Is this a trick?" Clary rolled her eyes at him. "No. I think I can remember eleven. No sex at eleven." Magnus, in fact, had no trouble remembering as far back as his eleventh year on this earth, and even further. He had near perfect memory, and for the longest time had believed it was another facet of his demonic heritage that gave him eidetic recall. Apparently not.

"He's a Beckett," Clary said by way of explaining his resemblance to her husband. "I think one of the Herondale girls married a Beckett in the sixties."

"Not a very well known shadowhunter name."

"No." Clary bit her lip as she closed the file and tucked it between the arm and cushion of her seat. Just then her cell chirped and she started again, shivering as goose bumps cascaded down her arms. She ignored the look Magnus shot at her as he rounded her chair and perched himself on the overstuffed arm of it. The text was from Simon:

_Package is secure. Package is not hungry. Package is tired. Can I call him Raleigh? See you in a bit._

_Please_ – Clary said in response.

"Does Jace know?" Magnus asked, interrupting her thoughts once again.

"You know, I don't think they've ever met."

"I wasn't talking about the resemblance, biscuit, but… Okay." Magnus stood and ruffled Clary's hair. "My sweetheart, A.K.A. your boss, will be home in two days. That means _your_ sweetheart will be as well. I've absolutely destroyed our room in Alec's absence and he hates it when I use my," he snapped his fingers and released a smattering of blue sparks into the air like a static charge, "you know, to clean up. So, I have some homemaking to do."

"Don't let me keep you," she said softly, trying to muster a smile for the man who might as well have been her brother-in-law.

"Get some sleep, Clarissa. You need it."

* * *

Jace took the steps into the main floor of the New York Institute two at a time. He left his kit bag on the kitchen table and ducked his head into the fridge. He had eaten just a few bites in the past twenty-one hours of flights, airports, and layovers. He was really quite pleased with the time he had made. Convincing Alec to let him come home early had been more troublesome, though worth it.

There was almost nothing edible in the expansive fridge – except… apples. He grabbed a pair of them and two bottles of water, and, on his way out of the kitchen, a bottle of wine and two juice glasses. Jace smirked proudly to himself and admired the symmetry of his plan. His next stop was their room – his and Clary's – now in a smaller, more private wing of the Institute where married shadowhunters were housed. But, as he slid the pocket door to their suite open with one hand, he realized that the lights were all on, perhaps still on from last night. It was five a.m. and Clary was not by choice an early riser. If she was not needed otherwise, she would be curled up wherever she had fallen asleep. By the looks of it, his wife had not fallen asleep here last night.

He deposited his haul of comestibles onto the small coffee table in the sitting area of their quarters, and made a quick detour to his closet. The hasty travel accommodations had not allowed him time to change during his layovers. He could smell himself. Without taking time to shower he could at least throw on fresh clothes before he sought out Clary and bundled her back to their room for a proper reunion. He grabbed out a soft white tee shirt and a worn pair of old jeans with rips at the hems and a hole starting out at the left knee. Leaving his feet bare, he grabbed one of the apples and ventured out into the hall once more.

She might be in the library or the garden, or she could simply have fallen asleep reading in one of the new overstuffed chairs in the great room. That would be where he began his search. As he walked the corridors leading into the more common areas of the institute, he heard a familiar sound up ahead and groaned mentally. _That's Izzy's laugh_, he thought as the husky sound repeated, softly bouncing off of the walls a few feet beyond.

"_Ah, Si!_"

"Gah!" Jace let the sound slip as he rounded the corner to see Isabelle flush against the wall, shoes in her hand, with Simon leaning into her, his mouth nipping in at the place where her shoulder and throat met. Simon pulled away as soon as he heard Jace's exclamation. "Please. There are rooms. With doors. With locks on them."

"You aren't supposed to be home yet," Izzy announced without dropping her hands from the back of Simon's neck.

"Please use one," he continued his protestation to what he had been made witness to as he continued on past them down the hall.

"Jace!" Izzy called after him.

"It's Clary's birthday."

Back past the kitchen and a little way before the infirmary was the small ballroom. Clary and Magnus had commandeered it after Alec had been given charge of the Institute three years ago, and began its transformation from a disused dancing hall into a large communal living area, or great room. It had taken them long enough, but the room turned out to be a rather cozy area to relax and decompress after fighting the odd Ravener demon. There were three seating areas composed of mismatched, however fashionable, large and plush sofas and chairs (and something Magnus had called a chair-and-a-half); a smallish dinner table and chairs; a television and several gaming systems as well as audio equipment; a fireplace, pool table, and rugs and pillows strewn all over. They had taken the plaster walls down to the brick beneath and now the whole thing resembled a posh New York loft. It was probably what Magnus had had in mind all along. But Clary hadn't been left out of the decorating process and so the walls were covered with canvases bearing paintings, pastels and sketches of significant events from shadowhunter history and mythology. It was one of the ways that Clary had been able to recover her sense of self in the aftermath of the Dark War, and every time Jace gazed at one of her canvases he marveled at his wife's resilience.

He had been right to check this room first. She lay curled into herself on one of the 'Lovesac' chairs that sat nearest the fireplace. Her hair was tied back into a loose braid and she wore one of Jace's old oat-colored sweaters with black leggings. She was snoring lightly like she did when she had just drifted off to sleep and he thought twice about waking her. But she would regret sleeping the whole of her night in that position, he justified. He knelt near the arm of the chair where she was leaning her head, and gently ran the skin of his apple across the skin of her cheek.

Clary opened her tired eyes instantly. Her body tensed for a split second before relaxing back against the chair cushions. Knowing she couldn't really be seeing him smiling back down at her, she closed her eyes softly and sighed before opening them again. His grin was broader this time, but it was definitely there. "But how are you…"

"I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be," he answered her.

"But you aren't supposed to be back for another two days. How did you… you didn't portal back?"

"I flew."

"You?" she asked incredulously. He nodded. "You flew?" she asked again, trying to reconcile what she knew about Jace and his hatred of mundane travel with a fifteen to twenty hour flight. He only smirked more broadly.

"I think I must've won the airplane seating lottery. No screaming children, no chatty old ladies, really no one invading my personal space."

"Did you sacrifice a small child on the alter of the airplane gods in order to be so fortunate?" Clary huffed. Every time she travelled via public transport of any kind, it seemed that there were unwanted stares, a smelly old man, or someone who thought they'd just met their next BFF sitting next to her.

"I might've called Magnus," he confessed.

"Why a plane?"

"Alec…" Jace and Clary said in unison, Clary answering her own question. "He said I could come back early if I could find a way other than a portal. He didn't want to arrange to have one opened twice."

"Ever practical, isn't he?"

"He's my _parabatai_ and I love him. But I missed you terribly." He stopped speaking and looked into his wife's eyes. There was something there for a split second, he could swear it. But she returned his stare with such affection that his minor moment of worry melted away. He took the apple, still in his hand, now warmed by his grasp, and tapped the tip of her nose with it. "Happy Birthday," he whispered conspiratorially.

With a squeal, clary threw her arms around his neck and he pulled them both to their feet. They passed Simon and Isabelle in the corridor on their way back to the suite.

"Still with the making out in the hallways. You're twenty-how-old?" Jace admonished. Clary smiled at her friends but said nothing, her mouth full of a bite of apple.

"Happy birthday, Clary," and, "Happy Birthday, Fray," they chorused as the couple passed them. Clary waved as she swallowed her apple, and waved as her husband picked up his speed, pulling her along with them.

"How long does it take to plan a wedding?" Jace started as they crossed the seating area of their suite and Clary collapsed onto the still-made bed.

"You wouldn't know. It's not like you've ever planned one." As soon as Jace and Clary had come of age and the question of the Clave sending her to a far off Institute had risen, Jocelyn had been easy enough to give her blessing in favor of a young marriage, rather than advise the two wait a few more years, as she had insisted at first. They had held a small ceremony in the Institute's library – literally an exchange of vows and marks, and that was the end of it. But Clary hadn't mourned for the small wedding one bit. The people she loved, those who she called family, had all been there. And best of all, Luke's present to them, had been the week they had spent at the farm afterward. No prying eyes, demon attacks, or family drama had infiltrated their own private paradise. The fridge had been stocked and there were clean towels and bed linens; no parents, no warlocks, no best friends, no _parabitai_. It had been heaven, and Clary begged to repeat the tradition every year. So far they had gone back once. Jace mimed a bullet to the heart at her pronouncement. "Really, Jace. If we'd let Isabelle plan our ceremony –"

"We didn't have any other choice. They'd have sent you over to the Helsinki Institute and you'd have blue toes and speak Finish by now."

"But if we could have, you know we would still be waiting, wading through Izzy's dress fittings and cake tastings, and all of that."

"Not for nine years! But, as long as it isn't Simon that's dragging his feet. Iz is the closest thing I have to a sister," _thank the Angel_, he added silently. "And I kind of like Simon. I'd hate to have to beat him to a nice bloody pulp to soothe poor Isabelle's hurt feelings."

"Do you really think there is any danger of that happening? No!" Clary reached to pull him down next to her but he feinted away to retrieve the wine and glasses he'd placed on the small coffee table earlier.

"Let's drink to my safe return," he said as he uncorked the bottle of red wine.

"_Jace_, no."

"Fine. We'll drink to your birthday, then. Not _as_ auspicious an occasion, but I'm humble enough to step aside in favor of my beautiful wife –"

"No to the wine." Clary crinkled her nose in the way he loved that pulled creases into the skin just between her eyebrows. He gave her a quizzical look and a smile as he stopped mid-task, waiting for an explanation. "Sirah has been giving me a headache lately."

"I could grab a different bottle," Jace suggested as she stood and stepped towards him, removing the wine from his hand and setting it back down on the table.

"I've got a better idea," she whispered, reaching for the hem of his tee shirt.

"Oh." Jace swallowed the memory of how much he had missed this over the past five days. "You and your silly ideas."

"Silly?"

"Did I say silly? No. I said brilliant."

"No." She shook her head playfully as she pulled the shirt up over his head.

"Yeah. Pretty certain I said brilliant."

* * *

The woman had flitted off in another direction altogether once the three of them had entered the Institute, but they guy – Simon – had led Raleigh down a dimly lit hall to a dormitory style room. It was stark, clean, utilitarian. But it was larger than any room he'd been fortunate enough to have for the past five years. There was a plush looking bed, already made with pillows and blankets plenty, tucked to one side; a small dresser and bookcase combo occupied the other wall. The room had it's own bathroom and a bay window. Altogether, he could see himself being very comfortable here.

"Do you need anything?"

Raleigh turned to see the tall man slouching against the doorframe. "No."

"Okay."

"What time is breakfast usually?" he asked in order to break the monosyllabic pattern they had going.

"Um. It's not, usually. No one but Clary ever really learned to cook, and I'm more of a coffee first thing kind of guy myself. If you mention to Izzy your hungry, though, just… watch out. We'll probably hit Taki's sometime today, but, obviously we were all out late. Clary will be excited to meet you though." He was babbling more than he'd hoped, but finally managed to close his mouth and keep it closed.

"Training?" Raleigh asked, once more with the one-word dialogue.

"The training room is open. Yeah. Twenty-four seven. But, ah, Jace – he's your instructor – he won't be back till day after tomorrow with another student, so just relax today. Meet people. Sleep. Whatever you need."

Raleigh flinched at the mention of another student. Most Shadowhunters had finished their training and become active members of the Clave by his age – unless they were being trained to ascend. But because of certain obstacles in his past, Raleigh had never officially finished his training.

"I was still in training when I was your age. In fact, Jace was my instructor. He's pretty good, too. Relentless, but –"

"You ascended?" Raleigh cut him off.

"Yeah."

"And how old are you now?"

"I'm twenty-six." Simon didn't sound offended. "So's Izzy and Clary. Jace is twenty-seven. Alec's twenty-eight."

"Jace Herondale." It was a statement rather than a question. "My brother and I saw him run through a portal in Idris just before the Dark War. They were calling warriors to defend the Adamant Citadel. Our mother had already gone through."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well. That was a long time ago."

Simon took that as his cue to leave. "If you need anything, my room's at the near end of the corridor."

Raleigh nodded and turned his back on the door, opening his rucksack and extracting a stack of photographs. A few seconds later he heard Simon close the door behind him. He sunk down onto the floor and unwound the rubber band holding the stack together. A few photos into the stack he came to the picture he was searching for: two blonde boys in miniature shadowhunter gear, standing on either side of a strawberry blonde woman, crouched down with a cigarette in one hand. Raleigh shook his head as he remembered her hacking cough. Cancer, he and Yancy had silently thought every time she dissolved into the racking coughs that kept them awake at night. Blood of the Angel may have made them stronger than the mundanes, but cancer, it seemed, was indiscriminate. He and his brother had watched her go through that portal just before Jace Herondale, but unlike Jace, she had never returned. Raleigh didn't know whether she had been killed at the Citadel, or had been turned – become one of the Endarkened. But it didn't mater any longer. She was free from this world for almost ten years now.

Light broke through his concentration, and a noise that didn't correspond with the music that he was used to sleeping with accompanied it. He opened his eyes and realized it was much later in the day than he had intended to sleep. His media player had lost its charge and the music was no longer playing, the ear buds only dampening the noise coming from the corridor. Raleigh had fallen asleep sitting on the floor with his back propped against the side of his bed and the picture of his lost family clutched tightly in his hand.

He pulled the buds from his ears and rose to his feet as quickly as his stiff limbs could manage. The sound he had been hearing was a knocking on his door, and, now he heard, a female voice calling his name.

"Raleigh? It's Clary Herondale. Can I – Oh!" she exclaimed as he opened the door suddenly. "It's almost noon. I thought maybe you could use a real meal."

A small woman with flame-red hair stood in his doorway. She was dressed like a mundane, outfitted for the late New York summer – sneakers, a pair of cutoff shorts, and a thin sweatshirt. She looked about Simon's age. This must be Jace Herondale's wife. She looked smaller than he remembered, and tired. He scrubbed his hand over his face, wiping the sleep from his eyes, then nodded.

"Yeah. Let me change."

* * *

Clary waited downstairs by the entrance to the institute. She knew passersby would only see a young woman in a broken down old church yard, the church in front of her crumbling to bits, perhaps waiting to be demolished. She kicked at a tuft of grass that had struggled its way up through the cobblestone path at her feet. Proof again that '_life finds a way_'. Clary shook her head. "You've been watching too many old movies with Simon and Izzy," she muttered to herself.

"What was that?" Raleigh pulled the door to behind him and jogged easily down the stairs.

"That was nothing," she said coolly – perhaps more coolly than she first intended. "Are you ready?" she tried again with a smile.

"Of course." The boy smiled earnestly, offering her his arm as they passed through the wrought Iron gat and onto the New York streets.

They made most of the trip in silence, Clary only commenting every so often on a building, subway entrance or other landmark that Raleigh would find useful in his first few weeks in New York.

"Where are the others? Simon and Isabelle?" he asked her when they rounded a corner and stepped through the doors of an old delicatessen, both thoroughly hungry by now.

"I let them go to Taki's without us. Felt like traditional New York deli today." Clary ordered a French Dip for herself and a Reuben for Raleigh. "My husband – when he comes here with me, which isn't often," she chuckled as they sat at a small table in the back corner of the dining room. "Orders a fried egg sandwich. Or sometimes a grilled cheese. He's such a little boy sometimes." Clary smiled and dipped her roast beef into the au jus before taking a generous bite.

"He's coming home tomorrow?" Raleigh asked softly before taking a bite of his own.

"Oh. He came home last night." Clary felt a little sheepish. She had meant to be up early, give the kid a proper tour of the institute, introduce everyone. Instead she had woken up to an empty bed, a note from Jace on his pillow next to her, and the bedside clock reading eleven a.m.

"I thought he was in Hong Kong with the head of the Institute."

"Yeah, well. Jace isn't exactly at the head of the line when it comes to following protocol. And Alec… he lets it slide." She took a sip of her herbal tea and thought for a moment how she could kill a Behemoth demon with her bare hands for a cup of coffee. "Um, he came home early for my birthday," she admitted hesitantly. She didn't want the kid to think the Institute had fallen into ill use since Alec had taken over from his mother.

"Happy birthday, Mrs. Herondale," was all he said in response. He smile in that earnest way he had earlier that made him seem even just a little bit more open, younger.

"Call me Clary."

"You, know I saw you once before." His eyes flicked back down to the food on his plate and Clary waited for him to go on. She tried not to gulp down air too quickly, she was hoping against hope that she didn't know where he had seen her before. There could be any number of times he could have caught a glimpse of her. Angel, there was even a tapestry at the Gard – she shivered every time she walked past it on their infrequent trips to Idris. "At the Gard." She let out a breath she didn't realize she had been holding. "The night of the Battle of the Citadel. You and Jace," he trailed off.

Clary closed her eyes slowly and let her chin drop. So many Shadowhunters had died in that battle. It was written in the file she'd been studying the night before:

_Born Raleigh James Beckett on December 11, 1998, son of Marion Beckett (deceased, Battle of the Adamant Citadel) and Jordan Beckett (deceased, random demon attack). Younger brother of Yancey Beckett (also deceased, random demon attack). _

_Trained at: San Francisco Institute 2007-2008, Manila Institute 2008-2008, Lima Institute 2008-2009, Anchorage Institute 2009-2012._

_Personality Assessment: Skillful but prone to lapses in judgment. Disrespectful of command structure. Strong-willed with both positive and negative consequences._

_RB has been missing since shortly after the death of older brother, Yancey. Last known whereabouts Sitka, Alaska._

Clary had thought to herself what a familiar story it was. How many Shadowhunter families had been lost to battle over the last thousand years? And even more familiar to her was the toll it had taken on the survivors – on Jace, a boy who had floated around his society without seeming to find any place in it. Who lived for any reaction, good or bad, to his actions. It had taken literally years to even begin to repair the damage that his misguided upbringing, his displacement, and his status as an undesirable had caused. _Skillful but prone to lapses in judgment. Disrespectful of command structure. Strong-willed with both positive and negative consequences. _ Clary had thought, _sounds familiar_. Apparently Raleigh Beckett's eerie resemblance to Jace wasn't where the similarities stopped.

"I'm –" she began to speak, but was cut off by the boy sitting across the table from her.

"I just wanted to say, it's an honor ma'am. I'm looking forward to training with you – all of you."

* * *

"I just thought, 'you know, Simon and I don't spend enough time together'." Jace clapped the taller man on the shoulder. "Am I right?"

"Are you?" Simon shrugged. "We do live together. You know that."

"Eh, together… I'm here, you're there. I travel, you fight, I fight. We haven't really bonded in a while. Is it because of my good looks? Just because I'm prettier than you doesn't mean you don't have something to offer," he chuckled to himself as the train came to a stop and passengers began standing and shuffling toward the exits.

Simon rolled his eyes. "We played Portal together the other night."

"Gladys is such a bitch." Simon nodded emphatically in agreement. "What we need is a traditional male bonding ritual, you and I."

"Like?" Simon asked as they jogged up the steps of the subway station leading to the street.

"Shopping."

"Oh, of course. Shopping. I really can't believe I thought we could view each other as equally masculine and capable men when we haven't been shopping together." Simon turned on his heel and headed back towards the platform below.

"No," Jace commanded as he caught Simon by the collar of his tee shirt. Today it said _I see the assassins have failed._ "I need you, and you need me."

"No, I don't." Simon had twisted out of Jace's grasp and turned to face him. They were forced to back up against the wall of the stairwell to avoid the stream of commuters coming and going.

"You really do."

"Get a room!" some kid yelled as he sailed down the steps past them, skateboard in hand.

"Oh, I kinda hit that last night and now he's all up on my jock!" Jace yelled back. Simon's pale face drained of even more color under his rockabilly glasses. "I could keep this up," Jace smiled, "or you could just give up and come with me."

Simon turned around to see that two elderly ladies and a handful of other, less hurried commuters had stopped to stare. He looked at Jace and smiled quickly before turning back to the crowd. "I love this man! And I am not wasting another minute of my life denying it!"

"Okay, lets go!" Jace grabbed onto Simon's wrist and hauled him back up to the street.

"That was fun. Maybe you're right," Simon laughed to himself. Still in Jace's grasp, he noticed they were headed to a large jewelry store. "You know, I was only joking. I wasn't really professing my undying love for you. I mean, there was that one time that I bit you, but I'm not a vampire anymore and it just doesn't have any appeal. Whatsoever."

"I'm shopping for Clary. You're shopping for Izzy." Jace released Simon as they made their way through the door of the jewelry store.

"I am. I am?" Simon took in the many glass cases and bright lights artfully placed around the room in order to make the gemstones sparkle. It was overwhelming and there was only one thought that kept forcing its way to the front of his mind.

"Excuse me," Jace touched the arm of a passing sales girl, charmingly. "My friend and I are a bit overwhelmed," he voiced Simon's earlier thought. "I wonder if you could help us out a bit?"

"Well, of course," the girl smiled. "That's what I'm here for."

Jace grinned and chuckled until he caught Simon's disapproving look. He cleared his throat trying to cover the slip. Flirting was just second nature. "My wife," he began, noticing the girl's smile falter just a little bit. "Is having a birthday. Could you show me your peridot? Rings, or perhaps necklaces. Simon," he turned and motioned for Simon to join him at the viewing counter.

The girl went away to gather her wares. Still somewhat stunned, Simon found himself looking down at a display of canary and white diamond rings.

"Clary would want something simple, understated but beautiful. Delicate. Clean. She wouldn't want it to get caught in her… clothes or… _anything_." The girl had returned with a black velvet tray strewn with stones ranging from pale to electric green, set in rings, pendants and necklace strands. "Simon. What do you think?"

Finally pulled from his dazed state, Simon looked at Jace. He was holding a delicate white gold chain with a small square gem set in the middle of its length.

"It's a choker length, eighteen karat white gold chain with a .5 karat antique cushion cut 'evening emerald' peridot." The sales girl sounded bored now, as she recited the pieces stats by wrote.

"I think you don't need my help. I think you know Clary and you know she'll love it. But she would love it even if it were a piece of old gum stuck around a string, just because you gave it to her. And you know that too." The girl wrinkled her nose at Simon's description in distaste, but didn't say anything.

"Could you box this up, please?" Jace asked her, sending her away again momentarily so he was able to speak to Simon in semi-privacy. "Isabelle. Simon?"

"What?"

"Are you going to make me say it? You are," Jace shook his head, feigning annoyance. "Isabelle loves you. And I love her. Simon. I love her like a sister."

Simon looked up again, finally focusing on his friend.

"Simon. It's been ten years. There are Shadowhunter children getting their first marks who were just being born when you and Izzy started dating."

"I know," Simon mumbled.

"Marry her!"

* * *

The Chairman slyly sidled up to Raleigh and began winding figure eights around his feet.

"He likes you," Magnus drawled lazily as he walked into the training room and found his cat purring contentedly.

"I'm flattered." Raleigh gave a lopsided grin and reached toward his feet to scratch the cat behind his ears. Subsequently, The Chairman's ears flattened, eyes widened, and he was off like a shot, rocketing to the top of a stack of tumbling mats to clean himself.

"Don't be. He likes everyone. Until you make any sudden movement." Chairman Meow let out a hoarse cry in agreement.

Raleigh shrugged and bent down to pick up the staff at his feet. The weapon was called a bō, used in the oriental fighting style called Bōjitsu. He had learned the technique while he was living in Manila. It had been too long since he had held a bō. It felt unfamiliar in his hands.

"Speak softly and carry a big stick?" Magnus asked with an arched eyebrow.

"I'm usually not the one speaking softly." He chuckled while executing a sloppy wrist roll with the bō. It felt awkward, but good too. "No. That was Yancey."

"You know, I met him once."

Raleigh had to check himself, almost dropping the staff mid-swing. There was rarely any time that he and Yancey hadn't spent together after The Dark War. They were in fact preparing for the _parabatai_ ceremony which would tie them together more fiercely even than their shared blood. But then, the unthinkable had happened.

"It was… six years ago," Magnus continued. Raleigh and Yancey would have been stationed at the Anchorage Institute then. "I had to pop up to Alaska for a little errand of no consequence. It was the evening of the Anchorage Folk Festival."

By the Angel – _Yance and his Goddamn folk music_, Raleigh thought to himself. He had opted to stay home and play video games solo that night. "I got so tired of that band – Mumford and Sons."

"I don't know. Their first album had something…" Magnus smirked. "Well… Anyway," he continued. "My darling boy, Alexander, had to remain here, so I was… un-chaperoned. I should never drink while unsupervised. Everyone should remember that. Perhaps an inner-Institute memo. But I digress." Raleigh nodded his agreement, moving on to strike drills while Magnus continued his story. "I was dressed fabulously, and appropriately for a music festival, I might add. But some Whisky Tango abortion didn't see eye to eye with my fashion point of view. Maybe it was the body glitter. Anyway, your brother gave the creature a black eye on my behalf – not that I couldn't have defended myself, but well… He was very chivalrous, your brother."

"Yeah, well. Yance had kind of a hero-complex thing going on. You never would have picked us for heroes. We were never star athletes, never at the head of the class. But we could hold our own in a fight."

Raleigh had worked up a light sweat during Magnus's tangent. Now he reached for his hand towel and swiped it across his forehead and around his neck. The bō was placed up against the wall among various other training weapons.

* * *

Clary always got a chill in the Institute in the evenings – something she usually remedied with a quick shower before dinner, then again before bed. Tonight something had moved her to fill their not-insubstantial tub and have a nice hot bath. She sat in the water, leaning against the warmed porcelain thinking about her day. They had walked home from the deli, arriving about two o'clock. She had thought the others would all be in attendance, ready to meet the new resident. As it turned out, Simon was out doing something mysterious with Jace. Isabelle and Magnus were in the great room occupying one of the large beanbag sofas, watching a _Project Runway_ marathon: _"Heidi Klum has such a fantastic ass." "And legs that go on for days." "She's really hidden her warlock mark well…" "She's not really a warlock! Magnus?" "Well, you'd never know, would you?"_

Clary offered to show Raleigh a few of the key spots around the Institute before everyone settled down for the evening. "The library is always open and available to anyone who wants to use it. There is a spare laptop floating around somewhere, but mostly we have our own."

"Well, I don't. Travel light," he said in a clipped tone.

"Well, you can always use the Institute's resources and we can see about getting you your own later. You'll be needing one when classes start. I instruct in Basic First Aid and Herbology, Demonology, History – Mundane and Nephilem, and Linguistics. Jace takes on Combat Training and War Philosophy."

"May I see the training room?"

Clary had left him there and returned to her suite to call her mother. Her mom's voicemail echoed back at her over the phone so she left a quick message and called Luke instead.

"She's at the market. I don't think she gets terribly good reception in there."

They talked for another forty minutes before Clary promised to visit soon and ended the call. She lay back on the comforter of the bed. The lights in the room were dim and the curtains were drawn. The dark walls were painted a rich teal color. It was called 'perfect storm' and it had been marked as an historic shade of the early nineteen hundreds. It made the room feel smaller and more intimate. Clary had been so happy the day they had painted together – she and Jace. Now she felt like the room was far too gloomy. It needed more light. All of this darkness had had her asleep all week while Jace had been away.

She walked to the window and threw the curtains open, not caring if anyone was looking up to see her through the window – all they would see were ruins anyway. With more light spilling into the room, she motivated herself to do something. _Text Simon_, she thought.

_Si, where are you and my husband?_

_Why, I don't know what you mean, Mrs. Herondale._

_Fine. Be that way. But I need a favor._

_Anything._

_Wait. No. Strike that._

_Mostly anything._

_Come to the bookstore with me tomorrow. I promised Luke we would visit. And my mom should be there too._

_Anything for Clary's mom._

_Perv_

Clary locked her phone and placed it on the bureau. It was time to take a bath and let her anxieties soak away into the water. The steam fogged up the mirror as well as the handful of perfume and cosmetics bottles she had set neatly in a tray next to the vanity sink. She heard the outer door slide open and then shut with a soft snick as it latched.

"Clary?" Jace called softly into the washroom.

"In the bath." She left her eyes closed savoring the sound of his soft footsteps as he moved around the room outside. Soon his steps sounded closer and she let her lids slit open.

"You look relaxed," he announced, kneeling to brush his lips over her forehead. He dangled his fingertips into the water before quickly pulling his hand back. By the Angel, Fray! Are you trying to scald yourself?" Her cheeks were flush and the glow he saw on her face was a fine sheen of sweat.

"I'm fine. It's comfortable. I was cold," she protested as he grabbed her beneath her shoulders, pulling her to her feet.

"Well, you aren't cold any longer. Lets go, get you dried and dressed." He led her out of the washroom and sat her on the bed as he riffled through her wardrobe for clothes. "Put these on. Simon and Izzy are providing dinner tonight." He tossed her a faded, soft black tee shirt of his, and her favorite pair of worn, ripped and paint-stained jeans.

"Angel help us. Can't you tell them I have a headache?"

"No. They're picking up Thai." He smiled as he watched her dress, pulling her long red tresses out of the neck of her shirt. She rolled her jeans legs up a couple of times and stood. "I have something for you," Jace said, stopping her walking to the door.

Clary cocked an eyebrow. She didn't see any weapon shaped parcels, or new books either. So whatever he had for her must be small.

"Close your eyes," he instructed. "And put your hands on my waist."

She did as he requested, if a little reluctantly. Jace opened his fist and grasped the chain by its clasp in his other hand. He unhooked the latch and gently slid both of his hands beneath Clary's beautiful firey-red curls, meeting once again to secure the chain around her neck. Though she surely knew he had place a necklace on her – how could she not have felt it? – her eyes remained closed. Jace leaned down to place a chaste kiss on her nose. She opened her eyes quickly then, and turned to look in the mirror on the back of the washroom door.

"Happy Birthday," he whispered, as he circled his arms around her from behind.

"It's beautiful," Clary gasped.

"You are," Jace half-growled as he turned her in his arms to deliver a much less chaste kiss this time.

"You'll make us late for dinner," Clary exclaimed as he released her mouth and pushed her towards the bed.

"Good."

* * *

Simon stumbled towards the old elevator, precariously balancing three brown paper bags filled with Thai food. "I thought that 'we' were going to pick up dinner," he shot accusingly over his shoulder.

"Well, I called the order in. I paid, didn't I?" Iz practically skipped ahead of him to press the call button. "Here, let me lighten your load." She reached out and relieved him of one of the bags.

"Well," Simon said in a low voice as they entered the lift. "Are you going to tell them?"

"I want to see if they notice. Magnus will notice, but the others…"

"Jace will say something."

"He'd better not. I will. Make. It. Hurt."

Simon looked at the tiny package of a woman in black leather pants and a sheer, flow-y plaid blouse standing across the elevator car from him. He had seen Iz in action and knew just how good she could make on her threat.

"Don't kill the messenger. But you know he will."

"No," Said Izzy. "He won't." She held up her cell phone, displaying the text she'd just sent off to Jace:

_Not a word. Or I will make. It. Hurt._

Followed by a picture of her left hand formed into a fist.

_Yes ma'am_, his reply buzzed back.

* * *

After a quick trip back to his room to don a clean pair of pants and a tee shirt, Raleigh made his way by dim memory – _like a lost dog_, he thought – to the great room, where Magnus had indicated dinner would be served. He smelled a spicy, sweet and savory aroma and heard the sultry, blues-y sound of _Nothing Else Matters_ being sung by a woman. _Ah_, he thought, _so this is a music house. That's a good thing_.

There were five of them clustered around an oversized coffee table, unpacking paper sacks full of to-go cartons. Clary was passing around chopsticks when Simon declared, "I'm a fork-man."

"Really?" Jace arched an eyebrow with a judgmental smirk on his face.

"What? I prefer forks."

Isabelle giggled.

"Really, if you don't want to spend all night cleaning noodles out of the carpet, Jace, let him eat with a fork."

"See, she appears to come to my aide, but really it's a put-down. Thanks, Clary."

Magnus produced a fork from seeming thin air – probably summoned from the Institutes kitchen. "Ah, a young man in need of sustenance," he said as he looked up to see Raleigh lingering in the doorway. "Seize the moment. Remember all those women on the 'Titanic' who waved off the dessert cart."

"But," Clary spoke around a mouthful of pad-thai noodles, "That's kind of morbid, Magnus. Are you suggesting we'll all be in mortal danger soon?"

"Wouldn't you like to know, biscuit," Magnus answered with a sly smile. Jace nearly choked on his beer.

Raleigh walked quietly over to join the group as the music changed.

"I hope I ordered enough," Isabelle shoved a still-full bag of to-go cartons toward Raleigh. "It's been the better part of a decade since there was a teenage boy in the house."

Raleigh's eyes bulged. It had been literally years since he had seen food on this scale. Most of his meals, especially in the last few months, had been taken at shelters and soup kitchens. "I'll do my best, but… I actually might not be able to put a dent in it. I can't remember the last time I saw real bread," he said, indicating the box of sweet steamed rolls in the center of the table.

"It won't hurt to have leftovers," Clary said, helpfully. "Thai for breakfast…"

"No." Jace shook his head as he reached for another dumpling. "I plan to get you back into the training room with me tomorrow morning. I'm feeling stiff and I bet you are too." Clary groaned and Jace laced his fingers through a lock of her hair and tugged gently.

"Oh! I'm saved!" Clary exclaimed. "I'm saved, I'm saved! Simon and I have to go visit Mom. Mom trumps training." She smiled wickedly at her husband. "It's my birthday and you can't tell me no," she whispered.

Jace opened and closed his mouth as if beginning to say something then thinking better of it. He sent her a scathing glance instead. "You're setting a bad example for the kid," he grumbled.

"Raleigh," the young shadowhunter said quietly.

"Well, _Raleigh_. It looks as though you and I will be in the training room solo in the morning. Unless… Izzy?"

"I'm in charge of my own workouts, thankyouverymuch," Izzy informed Jace forcefully.

Conversation progressed to other topics. Izzy put lots of emphasis on the new chain around Clary's neck; Jace chuckled and Magnus's eyes twinkled knowingly. Raleigh noticed the glint of a gem on Isabelle's left hand that he was pretty sure hadn't been there last night, but said nothing. As everyone began to fill up on curry and noodles, dumplings and rolls, Raleigh helped Simon pack up the leftovers and Izzy grabbed Magnus, drawing him away to a settee near one of the large windows to whisper conspiratorially.

Clary yawned for the third time in less than five minutes and Jace suggested they head to bed soon. They said their goodnights and left the others in the great room, capable of entertaining themselves for an evening. As the headed down the corridor, Jace felt his phone vibrate in his jeans pocket.

"_It's Alec_," he mouthed to Clary as he pressed _accept call_ and placed the phone to his ear. "Yep," he answered casually. Clary played with his fingers as she led them down the corridor toward their suite. "No." Jace abruptly stopped walking. Clary looked back at him sleepily, suddenly concerned. He pulled his hand from her grasp and clinched it into a tight fist. "No," he repeated, this time more forcefully. "Talk them out of it, Alec… Alec!" Jace turned around now, his body language speaking loudly of his discomfort. "It may not be much, but it's mine." There was silence on Jace's end for a few moments before he spoke again. "Yeah. Tomorrow."

"Jace?" Clary approached him sofly as soon as he switched his cell off.

"We'll talk about it later." He shouldered past her and strode the last few feet to their room.

"We have a lot to talk about later," she said quietly as she stood alone in the darkened hall. "You don't know the half of it."

* * *

A/N: Hi folks! I hope I'm not the only one who loved these two fandoms enough to mash them together (crazy pairings happen in my head all of the time, so I never know what's going too far). But the relationship of the _parabatai_ and 'drift compatibility' just screams crossover. Anyway, there will be more Raleigh; Mako and Pentacost will feature prominently; there are changes in store for the Herondales and Lightwoods. Part 1 was pretty TMI heavy, but PR should come more into play in the next part. These are pretty lengthy/meaty chapters so it will take some time between updates. Thanks for the reads =) Send review love if I've moved you to, in any way. Any ideas, questions, et'cetera are welcome.


	2. Part 2

A/N: This one's short - about 1/3 the length of Part 1. Had a rough couple of months that I won't go into other than to say, death in the family, and new medical equipment to learn. (also - please let me know if i should keep going with this story. it has definite direction, but... lemme know if you wanna keep reading. i'll keep writing.)

* * *

Clary gave Luke a quick hug on her way to the back of Garroway Books & Curios, leaving he and Simon behind as she ducked into the small public restroom. Luke arched an eyebrow at Simon in question. He shrugged in return as he extended a hand for the older man to shake. "Maybe her coffee kicked in."

"Have a seat," Luke said, motioning to a second stool behind the checkout counter. "You can help me sort. I've had a new shipment in."

Simon took the offered seat and pulled a handful of books from the open cardboard box on the top of the stack. Today his shirt read: _I reject your reality and substitute my own_. He thought it was rather fitting, being Nephilim now, knowing the world beyond the glamour.

"Simon?"

He turned to see Clary's mom, Jocelyn, emerge from the back door leading from the store into Luke's brownstone. "Hey, Mrs. – err… Jocelyn." He stood and returned her warm hug. She gave him an approving nod in response to his greeting – she had been trying to get him to call her Jocelyn for several years now.

"Where is she?" she asked, stepping back.

"Bathroom," both Luke and Simon chorused.

"And look at you," she said, indicating Simon's hair with a wave of a paint-splattered hand. "Growing it out again, yeah?"

"Naw, just lazy. But, Izzy kinda likes it, so… I don't know."

"Ah. I understand," Jocelyn grinned. "He sounds different, doesn't he?" she asked Luke conspiratorially.

"Aye. Very chuffed."

"Huh?"

Just then they heard the bathroom door squeak open and turned to watch Clary emerge. She was pale with a light sheen of sweat covering her forehead. "Hi, Mom," she greeted her mother as happily as she could manage through gritted teeth.

"Clary, my God!" Jocelyn had been living as a mundane for so long that the Shadowhunter colloquial, 'by the Angel', rarely found its way to her lips anymore. Its absence, however, did not diminish the sound of concern in her voice.

"I'm fine, Mom."

"Sit down," Luke instructed, relinquishing his seat. "You look as if you'll faint."

"Nope." Clary shook her head and kissed her mother on the cheek. "Not unless we all sit."

"I'll make us some tea," Jocelyn said, motioning to the door she had emerged from a few moments ago. She shot Luke a glance, heavy with meaning. Simon caught it and wondered what it had said. He and Isabelle had started to pick up on those little looks and mannerisms after just a few years together. He had no doubt these two had a silent language all their own.

The four of them made their way into the small kitchen, where Simon noticed a monitor mounted to a wall, displaying the front of the bookstore. It was new. Between that and the bell, Luke should know if he had customers even if he was away from the counter. Luke noticed him looking.

"Joce got tired of me skipping meals to mind the shop."

"Nice."

"Clary, have you been getting enough sleep?" her mother asked as she filled the electric kettle and fetched four mugs from the tea cabinet.

"Mom, yes! Stop worrying so much. Just 'cause I'm twenty-six now doesn't mean you can call me tired," she laughed halfheartedly, trying to make a joke about her birthday having just happened.

"Simon," Jocelyn addressed her daughter's best friend almost accusingly. "She looks dead on her feet."

"By the Angel!" Clary pleaded once more. Luke rubbed her shoulders supportively.

"What? We haven't been sending her out on patrols. She's just been moping around the institute while Jace was in Hong Kong. Oww!" he yelped as Clary pinched his arm across the table.

"Who wants shortbread?" Luke piped up, quickly changing the subject.

* * *

Raleigh found himself alone in the training room once again this morning. Unless, of course, you counted the Chairman, who was once again perched atop his stack of tumbling mats.

When he had emerged from his dorm room (as he had begun to think of it) to head off for his first real day of training at the New York Institute, he had noticed a change in the atmosphere of the old building. His path took him past the administrative office, where he heard raised voices. He couldn't tell what was going on – they weren't yelling, really – but he didn't relish the idea of being found eavesdropping either, so he continued on his way to the gym.

Now he sat on the floor in front of the tumbling mats, stretching and having a conversation with a cat. "So, yeah. Old J-pop. Old-school rock covers. Like that Ki:Theory cover of _Stand by Me_. I love that one. Some rock and soul fusion. Some kinda gritty blues, alt-rock. Instrumental. So, you know. Eclectic." He stretched into a kick split and dropped his forehead to the wooden floor, knocking it against the boards a few times. "I'm talking to a cat."

"In Hong Kong we had a bulldog," said a soft, heavily accented voice from behind him. "He was called Max." Raleigh sat up and swiveled around to face the newcomer. His eyes fell upon a small girl – she looked to be in her early teens, _maybe_ – with dark brown hair with bright blue highlights. She was clearly from some region of Japan, her pale, delicate features in stark contrast with her vivid hair and dark training clothes. She scowled at him very seriously as he popped to his feet and made his way forward to introduce himself.

"My name's Raleigh," he announced with a little bow.

"Mako Mori." She inclined her head just the appropriate amount to show him mutual respect. As he turned to retrieve his bō from the weapons rack, he heard her say something, as if to herself. "Watashi wa chigatta kare o sōzō shita." _I imagined him differently._

_Okay_, he thought. "Chigauka?" _Different how_, he asked as he turned back to her, weapon in hand. The girl blushed adorably and did several deep bows.

"My apologies, Mr. Becket. Takusan no kotowo kikimashita." _I've heard so much about you_.

"It's fine, really." He smiled deeply and offered his hand. It might have been a while since he had smiled at a girl like that. It felt strange, but also good – a feeling he was beginning to associate with being at the New York Institute. She reached her hand toward him awkwardly – a handshake was a very American gesture – and returned his smile. Her hand was cool to the touch in his, but her grip was confident. He would have continued the conversation if the Warlock hadn't entered the gym at that moment.

Magnus strode forward in his silk paisley pajama pants and a black tee shirt that said, _le meow_, in glittered script_._ He stood close enough that Raleigh could hear each intake and exhale of his breath, and stared down at their still clasped hands. Mako realized what the oddly dressed man was looking at, and snatched her hand back to her side.

"Well," he said with an arched brow. "I came to tell you that you both have a free day. Maybe tomorrow too, unless the three men who _think_ they're running this Institute manage not to kill one another."

"Three?" Raleigh asked.

"Kill?" Mako exclaimed, obviously more worried than either Raleigh or Magnus thought was called for.

"Relax, Koneko. Nobody's really going to get hurt." He turned to address Raleigh next. "There's been a restructuring of vocational responsibilities, so to speak. Mako's instructor's come with her at the behest of the clave. For reasons all very… clave-y. Master Herondale is… discomposed, in a way." Just then they heard the door to the office slam open and heavy footfalls hurrying in the opposite direction of the training room. Raleigh raised his eyebrows at Magnus. "Okay, he's Goddamn pissed," Magnus admitted, dropping his pretty speech.

* * *

"You are a high-profile Shadowhunter. Your family have a long history of working as Clave functionaries in some form or fashion. You and Clary, both –"

"We are not going to turn ourselves into the Clave's _media darlings_, Alec." Jace paced the length of the smaller office where Alec carried out most of his day-to-day running of the Institute. The room had been closed up for nearly a week and was still warm and stuffy; Jace could feel the dampness of sweat beading on his forehead.

"Look, you know it isn't like that. Publicity among shadowhunters, Jace, is pretty much entirely nonexistent, except by word of mouth." Alec held his throbbing temples with one hand, wishing for the thousandth time since his conversation with Jace last night that he had held off until this morning - preferably till after he'd said a proper hello to his warlock boyfriend.

"Then simply tell the Consul that I've agreed - _your_ word, of _your_ mouth - and let me carry on as I am."

"Look, you and Clary don't have to go to Idris..."

"Good," Jace interrupted.

"But the Consul has assigned a new instructor." Sweeping his fingers across his eyes to pinch the bridge of his nose, Alec looked up at his friend, brother, parabatai with an expression of defeat. "And there's nothing you, nor I, nor anyone can do to change that," he muttered. He was loath to let the man standing back by the office door know how truly frustrated the Clave's latest ruling had made him. The man in question stepped forward. He was tall and dark-skinned with a close, military style of haircut and a neatly cropped moustache.

"Mr. Herrondale," he addressed Jace in a thick London accent, different from the more polished British dialect typically spoken in Idris. "I didn't come here to make an enemy of you."

"No?"

"No. I came here to do a job. I'm damn good at my job too. That's why I was sent 'ere, and the Hong Kong Institute, and the Institution before that -"

"Ad nauseam and infinitum," Jace interrupted. He had heard of this man, this Stacker Pentecost. 'Reforming' the more casual institutes around the world; taking up slack where needed. But what, by the Angel, actually qualified him for that job? Jace couldn't recall ever encountering Pentecost in fieldwork; at least not in the past decade.

"I knew your father, mate."

"Which one?" Jace's proverbial hackles were raised now.

"And I didn't come here to deal with an arrogant twenty-some-year-old with daddy issues."

_Oh, that one, then._

"I didn't come here to make friends, either," he continued.

"You're not in any danger, then." Jace turned on his heel before Pentecost could say anything else, and stormed out of the room, letting the door slam into the wall on his way out.

"He's angry," Alec began his excuse for his friend, though the line was beginning to sound worn.

"He's young, Mr. Lightwood. He takes pride in his duties, no doubt, and he is good at what he dose, there is no denying that; but he is far from an example for young people to look to. Perhaps the other's in your purview at this Institute will not take my coming here as such a herald of gloom and doom as Mr. Herondale."

"We'll see."

* * *

"That's amazing," Magnus was saying as Alec led Pentecost into the training room several minutes later. The three of them – Magnus, Raleigh, and Mako – were standing in the middle of the large space facing one another. As Alec came closer he noticed the Chairman settled snuggly into Mako's embrace. He was purring loudly and rubbing his face against the young girls cheek.

"Yeah, all I got was a foot rub," Raleigh laughed.

"Miss Mori," Pentecost's voice startled the girl out of her cuddle and the cat jumped to the floor, taking refuge behind his warlock.

"Sensei." Mako's smile was replaced by a stern look of self-control.

"Mr. Beckett," Pentecost turned now to address Raleigh. "It's been a long time."

"Five years, four months." Raleigh stood almost to attention, but otherwise offered no more sign of respect for the older Shadowhunter.

"Huh," Magnus huffed out a little breath.

"Raleigh," Alec stepped forward offering his hand to the young doppelganger of his _parabatai_. "I'm Alec Lightwood, and you know Mr. Pentecost from your time at the Anchorage Institute. And I can see you've been introduced to Miss Mori."

"She was kind enough to find me. We made our own introductions," he answered as he shook Alec's offered hand.

"Yes, we were… busy. Maybe you could show her to one of the empty rooms on your corridor. I have some more work to do before I get to settle down for the day."

"Sure."

They took their leave of the two adults and Magnus and headed to the residential wing of the building, Mako stopping briefly at the entrance hall to collect her sparse personal possessions. There were a few utilitarian duffels left after she had rescued her bags from the pile.

"Should we…?" he offered, realizing the rest of the luggage was Pentecost's.

"No. Sensei would not want the bother on his behalf." They continued half of the way again in silence.

"Have you begun weapons training yet?" Raleigh asked, not without some actual interest. He wasn't able to really guess her age solely from her looks, and the answer would give him at least some idea.

"Yes," she smiled shyly. "I have mastered several weapons – the tantō, crossbow, shuriken, and kana – though I am learning the bō, like you. I am very fond of it." Her blush was adorable – and probably deadly.

"No offense, please," he would just go ahead and ask. She arched an eyebrow quizzically. "But aren't you a little young to have mastered that many different fighting styles?"

"I started training with weapons very young, Mr. Beckett. My father was a sword maker." She glanced at the floor and the color drained from her cheeks momentarily. "But, yes, I am only just now turning sixteen."

"Have you sparred much with the bō?" he asked as he held the door to the dormitory corridor open for her.

"Yes." There was that blush again. "Fifty-one matches, fifty-one wins."

"That's amazing." And it was. This girl was serious about her fighting. A perfectionist, without question. But, then, she had spent a lot of her time with Pentecost, hadn't she? He didn't think he'd had even half as many wins when he had left the Anchorage Institute, and he and Yancey had been _serious_ about their training. "Has Pentecost let you help out with any fieldwork yet?"

"No," she answered quietly. "Sensei has his reasons."

"He always does, doesn't he?" Raleigh opened the door to the dorm room across the hall from his own. "But with fifty-one wins I can't imagine what they could be."

Mako sighed heavily.

"I hope you are looking forward to training together. I have studied you fighting techniques and strategies. Even… Alaska."

Now it was Raleigh's turn to sigh. Mako used the moment to set her bags on the end of her new bed.

"What do you think?" he asked.

"I think," big sigh again. "That you are unpredictable. You have a habit of deviating from standard combat techniques. You take risks that endanger yourself and your team. I don't think you are ready for fieldwork either."

"Well," Raleigh's eyes widened as he glanced at the floor then back at the small girl standing before him with such strength of her convictions. "Thank you for your honesty. You might be right. But one day when you're in the field you're gonna see that in combat you make decisions. And you have to live with the consequences." He opened his arms in a gesture of honesty and stepped backward out of her room. "That's what I'm tryin'a do," he said quietly as he shut the door behind him.

Mako waited to hear his steps retreat across the hall before she sank down against the back of her door. She had trouble believing what had just taken place; how coolly he had taken her accusation, and how very bluntly she had delivered it. Mako was never one to put friendship before saying what she thought was right and proper. Perhaps that was why she had no friends to speak of.

* * *

Simon smiled as he watched Luke pull his stepdaughter in tightly to his chest and kiss the top of her head.

"Go easy on your mum, Clar," Luke whispered. "She misses ya."

"Simon."

"Miss Fray," Simon answered as Clary's mother wrapped her arm around his waist.

"'Jocelyn'," she corrected with a smile. Simon nodded apologetically. "Simon, I want you to keep an eye on her, yeah? Something's off, and I know you know it too."

Simon glanced over his shoulder at the small redhead and scruffy bookstore proprietor talking softly in the door of the shop. He nudged the side of his nose with his knuckle and winked at Jocelyn.

"Thank you," she whispered, leaning up on tiptoe to kiss Simon on the cheek. "My love to Izzy." She smiled at him as Clary made her way over to them from the doorway, and wrapped her daughter up in a tight hug. "Don't stay away so long next time!"

"Yes, _mother_." Clary rolled her eyes affectionately. Some of the color had come back to her face as they had sat and had their tea. Simon's news hadn't hurt as a distraction, either. _Way to go, Simon_, she thought. Even when he didn't know what was going on, he was willing to take one for 'Team Clary'. She smiled at her friend, thinking back to their conversation in the kitchen.

"What did Jace get ya fer yer birthday?" Luke had asked, nervously trying to shift the focus from whatever was making Jocelyn's maternal instincts flare. _Sweet Luke._

Clary had fingered the gem resting in the hollow of her throat, quietly. Her thoughts drifted back to last night and the absolute state of _unrest_ her husband had been in after his conversation with Alec.

"Good on him," Luke whistled in approval.

"What?" Jocelyn asked with a concerned look at Clary, setting the kettle on the worn wood tabletop. She had obviously missed Luke's previous question.

"That bit of pretty about your daughter's neck, Joce."

"Jace's birthday gift," Simon clarified.

"Hey. Simon." Something occurred to Clary just then.

"That _is_ my name," he replied.

"What were you and Jace doing together yesterday?" She fingered the stone idly, deciding she had a pretty good idea what the answer was.

"Male Bonding." He nodded his head solemnly, refusing to elaborate. She was going to have to drag it out of him.

"Over… jewelry?" she nudged his knee under the table.

"Did I say that? I didn't say that." Luke and Jocelyn turned their full attention to her friend, now, while Clary just smiled knowingly. "I did not say that I went to a jewelers with Jace yesterday. And I didn't say that I looked at things resembling engagement rings. And I certainly didn't say how… _cough_… grateful Isabelle was when she opened the very small velvet box that I came home with yesterday."

Exclaimations of 'Simon!' and 'Congratulations!' filled the room for several seconds.

"Come to think of it, that was a really expensive box for how _very_ small it was." He smiled sheepishly as Clary squeezed his hand in silent support.

Jocelyn went on to ask about the ring and Simon described the black diamond solitaire and five stone wedding set with pride. Clary knew Izzy would adore it. And Simon seemed to make it pretty clear that she had.

"But please don't say anything. She wants to tell everyone tonight at dinner now that Alec is back."

"Hundred says Magnus already knows," Clary teased, remembering seeing Magnus and Isabelle go off on their own together last night.

"All of New York knows!" Simon moaned in mock distress.

"Magnus can keep a secret," Clary said. "Trust me."

The subway ride home was quieter than usual, with Clary staring distractedly at a random spot on the opposite wall of the car.

"Fray," Simon broke into her solitary contemplation.

"Lewis?" she answered back.

"Your mother has enlisted my first rate services as a Private Investigator. Don't tell anyone."

"Oh. Very stealthy of you."

"Yes, I know. I'm very good."

"Very sneaky," she agreed with a serious nod.

"And, while I _do_ love stopping every few blocks at a public bathroom for you to lose your lunch…" He trailed off and let his words sink in.

Clary's gaze shifted to his stupid shirt. Wasn't that some TV show slogan or something? She took a deep breath. "Simon, don't. I haven't even told Jace yet."

"Okay."

She waited for him to say anything else, but he remained quiet, sitting next to her, literally offering his shoulder for her to lean on. She sighed as she rested her head against his warm arm. She let out a breath she felt like she'd been holding since the night before. "Simon?"

"Yeah, Fray?"

"Thanks for shutting up about it."

"You can tell me to shut up anytime, kid."

They sat silently together until they reached their station, both thinking about how completely their lives were all going to change.


End file.
